


Unburden

by WET_NOODLES



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Fire Emblem Kink Meme, I'm punishing all of you by not backdating this, Light Bondage, Pegging, The Future Past Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WET_NOODLES/pseuds/WET_NOODLES
Summary: “I’m honored that you would place so much trust in me… so let me repay your kindness. Let me take care of you.”Prompt at the kink meme: "Lucina/Gerome, femdom. 100% consensual and Lucina consistently being the dominant one, please! Bonus points for light bondage and/or pegging. Major bonus points if Gerome awkwardly asks her for it. ;)"





	Unburden

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposting this in the event that the kink meme gets fucking nuked from orbit. Some of the awkward prose got a quick brushup, but it's still very much a piece of my writing from 2014, so Be Warned.

It was an hour past dinner when Lucina gave serious thought to gathering a search party. In times like these, so plagued with doubt as she was, Lucina would turn to the counsel of her Lieutenant General. 

“Oh my gods,  _really_? What am I, his mother?”

While obscured behind a veritable fortress of paperwork, Severa’s tongue tended to lose its edge. Right now she sounded more distracted than annoyed—a consequence of tasking Cynthia to the scouting and training of new recruits and leaving the “everything else” to herself.

“Sorry, that was rude,” she mumbled, avoiding Lucina’s gaze. “Look… I know you’re worried, but Gerome can take care of himself. He’s probably making his rounds with the wyverns again. It’s coming down pretty hard, you know?”

Lucina hummed an uneasy sound of affirmation, before pointing out, “Cynthia had said earlier that these were poor flying conditions.”

Severa groaned theatrically.

“Which is  _why_ a search party would be about as useful as putting up fliers. To get soaking wet… like, in the rain. Ugh, I’m losing my edge.”  She massaged her temples. “See? Working women like us need our beauty sleep.  _Especially_ you. Gerome would probably mope my ear off if you died of worry sickness on my watch. Here’s an idea: you go rest. If he’s not in by the hour, I’ll call up a search. That work for you?”

It wasn’t the first time Lucina belatedly realized that she should be the one giving out orders instead of taking them. In fact, she could have imposed a curfew on Gerome’s rounds, and he would have obliged without a second word. But the thought of issuing commands to her friends like common retainers struck her as unnatural, and even worse, tyrannical in all the ways they'd fought so hard to displace. 

So she thanked Severa, and took her leave. When she returned to her quarters, two plates of lamb remained on the serving platter, untouched, the clear fat congealed and gelatinous. Lucina ignored them both, and reread by candlelight the trade agreement that had been left at her desk. 

The candlestick had dribbled an hour's worth of wax by Gerome's return. When he said nothing, Lucina broke the silence. 

 “Your lamb may have gotten cold,” she said matter-of-factly as he shouldered off his dripping cloak, his eyes obscured by the dip of the hood. Though he had retired the mask, he still could not deny himself the small comforts of a disguise. 

“Sorry,” he said, though a conspicuous pause followed; Lucina supposed that if it were anything dire, he would come forward with it on his own terms.

“There’s no need to apologize. Severa thought that you might have taken extra care with the wyverns, given the weather.”

Her bower was furnished with a table, but she ate on the loveseat with her plate balanced on a leg, and Gerome did the same. It afforded an intimacy one would never enjoy at the banquet hall. The discussions here were more conversational, and Gerome preferred to take his meals in private anyway.

“Minerva was worried,” he admitted. “Many of them are young, some freshly hatched. Securing shelter is complicated when you can barely stay aloft in fair conditions.”

“I see.” Her lips drew into a thin line. “Forgive me. I hadn’t considered how the summer climate might treat the hatchlings. If it’d help, I could round up a small division of the pegasus guard to accompany your next trip.”

Gerome smirked behind his flagon, a rare treat during his time spent at court.

“I do enough childsitting as it stands. General Cynthia needs to look after her own charges.”

 She chuckled. “As do I. And I don’t mean merely the halidom and her people, but my people. My Shepherds. As banal as it may sound… worlds cannot express how precious all of you are to me.”

She’d spoken plainly with Gerome many times before, but nothing was so indecently gratifying as watching him stripped bare of cloak and mask, lounging in his black arming doublet and rider’s breeches. She would follow the subtle movement of his hands and the wandering of his gaze, never quite meeting hers.

Rather than answer, he dropped his eyes and grunted his acknowledgment.

“If it weren’t for any of you, I wouldn’t be alive to nag you as I do now," she pressed. "I know you hate to be smothered, but might you indulge my trivial concerns? Let me worry for you.”

“Then permit me to sound like Brady for a moment,” he said dryly. “You’ve seen how catastrophizing can take its toll on a companion’s wellbeing. You lose enough sleep as it stands; collapse from exhaustion on my watch, and I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Severa.”

Maybe it was the steaming hippocras they had served that night, or maybe she was truly sleep-deprived, because snorting laughter was unbecoming of an Exalt.

“Sorry, it’s just that Severa… never mind. I’m grateful for the concern for my sleep habits—rich as they are, coming from Gerome the Vigilant.”

“And what is meant by that?” he said, mockingly ominous, before giving way to quiet laughter himself. “I suppose Minerva has missed you of late.”

“Then it’s settled. Take me along next time, even if the weather is less than ideal. Consider it an order from your Exalt.”

She stood to take Gerome’s plate, despite that she could have called upon a steward to retrieve them just as easily. The kitchen staff had suffered her “eccentricities” long enough to know when to humor her.

 “Are you going to bed?” He rose with her, almost a little hurriedly.

“I thought I was. Is something the matter, Gerome?”

Though she’d always had a little height on most of her friends—excepting Yarne and Laurent, and perhaps Brady if he were to straighten his back—Gerome had made some gains in recent years. He stood at least a half a head taller than Lucina, though by the lines of his brow and the way he worried his lip with his teeth, it looked like he wished for nothing more than to sink into the floorboards in that very moment.

Gerome studied their boots intently.

“I wasn’t as upfront as I should have been,” he muttered. “There’s a reason for my delay… though you might think me foolish if I told you.”

“Don’t be absurd. There’s nothing you could say to me that would make me think any less of you.” She touched his forearm and felt him stiffen. He had always been somewhat reserved when it came to intimacy, but here she could tell that something was amiss.

“If anything is troubling you, no matter how trivial it may seem, use me to unburden yourself: that is an order. I will not allow you to suffer in silence, Gerome.” Her face softened. “Come to bed. Let me start a pot of tea, and then we’ll talk.”

Gerome grunted his tentative assent. This was another job the kitchen staff would begrudgingly leave to her—her mother had left her with a rudimentary knowledge of what leaves to brew, what blended well with which, their various properties. She also knew very well of Gerome’s fondness for spearmint.

She found him perched at the very edge of her bed, his pack tucked neatly under his arm. The fireplace in her chambers had been doused, with candles lit in its stead. Their light glanced off the angular planes of the tinted vases, the clusters of daisies gently aglow. She understood the desire for sanctuary very well, and her chambers were one such retreat. What she didn’t understand was Gerome’s apparent reticence in such a sanctuary; when there was no other place to withdraw, it was within himself. She set their tea down on a desk and took her seat beside him.

“I overheard a conversation,” he began, unfolding his hands from his lap. “Two men… that I would have dismissed as impotent malcontents. The draff of society congregating in their lair, like a nest of rats. These men who would doubt your capabilities as a ruler.”

“Gerome, that’s perfectly natural. Any kingdom in a state of transition can expect misgivings on the part of her people. Even Aunt Emmeryn had her—“

“I recognized them,” he said abruptly. “Their faces were covered, but I knew their voices. These were courtiers, Lucina, from the time of your grandfather’s reign. And they had the audacity to ascribe your father’s betrayal to his naivete. That your…  _trust_ in your people would condemn you his very fate. And that…”

His teeth were clenched, his knuckles white as he dug his fingers into his knees.

“That, to me, is a threat. So I took care of it.”

Lucina’s eyes widened.

“Gerome, you didn’t—“

“I didn’t.” He cut her off. “I couldn’t live with myself were I to bloody your hands to sate some misguided thirst for vengeance. I followed them out of the shop and blackmailed them.” He slackened his grip, appearing to calm himself. Then he said, quietly, “They had good reason to mask their identities. They won’t dare show their craven faces at court again.”

Having regained his composure, Gerome took a careful sip of his tea. All the same, he continued to avert his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he said, grasping his cup close to his chin. In the absence of a mask, Gerome would improvise ways to shield his face. “It’s cowardly and dishonest, but I was loath to burden you with that knowledge. You’re overtaxed as it stands.”

“Gerome! You are  _not_  a coward,” she said firmly. “I can restate it again and again—however many times it takes to do away with your ludicrous insistences that you are  _craven_ … that you are  _anything_ like those little men who are too fearful to confront me to my face.”

Despite the forcefulness in her voice, she was gentle when she took his cup.

“You were right to bring this concern to me. I understand your desire to work in the shadows, and quash these threats before they should ever appear in court. But even more so, I value your trust. Have faith in me—so that I am better armed with your knowledge should a threat such as this ever arise.”

From here, she could see the moisture on his nose from where the steam condensed. She could hear him hold his breath tight in his chest, though he still managed to get the words out.

“My faith in you is unshakable, Lucina. I give you my word.”

If he didn’t breathe then, she thought, he was liable to pass out on the spot. He closed his eyes expectantly as she leaned in—she kissed both lids, one after the other, and he exhaled.

“There’s something I still don’t understand,” Lucina said, pulling away to return his tea to the desk. “You said that these men had good reason to hide their face… where exactly did you overhear their conversation?”

Gerome flushed red and turned his face away.

“A friend… suggested I pay it a visit. That is to say…”

Angling his back to Lucina, he opened his pack and rummaged through. Lucina peered over his shoulder for a better view. What she found was… well, buckles, mostly.

“Rather, I paid my friend a visit, and my friend… gods, there’s no use in withholding names. It was Laurent. It was by Laurent’s advice that I…” He buried his face in his hands as Lucina pulled out the belt.

“This is for armor?”

“No.”

It seemed she wasn’t going to get much more out of him than that. When she could straighten and examine it in its entirety, it appeared to fit more like a girdle, and the material was unexpectedly smooth to the touch. She figured immediately that the straps were meant for tightening it, though the ring-like apparatus at the front mystified her.

“There’s more,” he grumbled, the most miserable she'd heard him since their time on the road. 

He produced a large, nondescript vial, and a silken cloth—a scarf, maybe? More buckles. A thin, flexible rod with a broad fan at the end. A switch.

Whatever those courtiers thought of her, Lucina was not naïve. The last object Gerome removed confirmed her suspicions. Black and long, its utility was fairly straightforward. Lucina took it to feel it for herself. It was cold and leathery to the touch.

“I see. I should have guessed. This isn’t for armor at all.”  She looked up to find Gerome turned away from her completely, his back rigid and shoulders tight. She placed a hand there and laughed at the sudden jump. “Gerome. Will you not look at me?”

At this he faced her, though he refused to meet her gaze.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly.

“You are forgiven, if it means that you will stop asking. In fact—apologies are forbidden. Consider that an order.”

Gerome’s face went hot, and what he muttered next was too low for Lucina to make out.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said that our tea is getting cold.”

“I see.” She laughed through tight-pressed lips and drew herself close. He was exquisite here, even as he sulked and fidgeted and deliberated over which words to use. There must have been a script in his head that he’d lost—everything else about it was too premeditated. She would have put him out of his misery, somehow.

“It’s alright,” she said, pulling herself into another embrace with Gerome, who rooted himself to his spot on the bed. “There is your positive proof that you’re no coward.”

“Don’t confuse bravery with shamelessness.”

“If you’d like to think of it as bawdy, so be it. We could certainly pretend.”

Gerome went rigid at this, and she chuckled into his neck. He was in no position to act scandalized by any of her suggestions.

“Can I ask something of you?” she said, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. One hand found the buttons of his doublet, and she unhurriedly worked them undone. Gerome inhaled sharply; she felt him nod.

“I want you to be forthright with me. As forthright as you ever are, at least. Use me to unburden yourself.”

She pulled away, cupping his jaw with her hand and bidding his eyes to follow her.

“You wouldn’t call this ‘forthright’?”

Lucina smiled and shook her head.

“Tell me what it is you want, Gerome.”

He gritted his teeth, eyeing his purchase where it rested in Lucina’s lap.

“I would leap back in time to somehow forestall this disaster,” he mumbled. “But we both know that’s impossible. Do you… really need to hear me say it?”

“There’s no way around it,” she said with mock-solemnity. “I could phrase it as an order, if it’s preferable.”

“You’ve been alarmingly enthusiastic about issuing orders as of late.”

She tapped her finger against the firm leather, watching him closely for a reaction. The brief levity appeared to settle his nerves—if she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed he was sulking. Perhaps he was; the scenario might not have played out just as he'd hoped.

“Truth be told, I’m as lost as you are,” she admitted. “I’m honored that you would place so much trust in me… so let me repay your kindness. Let me take care of you.”

Before he could compose yet another sour retort, she closed the space between them again, gauging the urgency in his kisses and the wanting in his breaths. She laced her fingers with his before pressing his hands against the headboard.

“What is this,” he panted.

She held them in place by the wrists, retrieving the satin cloth with her free hand.

“I want to see your face,” she said, and though she worried for a moment that she was crossing some sort of personal boundary, Gerome showed no sign of resistance. “And… I said I would take care of you. For once, don’t concern yourself with the matter of reciprocation.”

 There was a stiff pause as Gerome fidgeted with his hands, but allowed them to stay pinned behind his back.

“If that is your wish,” he said at last. Lucina reached around to tighten the knot; it was probably for the best that they couldn’t enjoy her handiwork from where she sat, straddled over Gerome’s lap as she blindly knotted him. By the feel of it, it didn’t seem tight enough to cut off circulation.

“You will tell me should it chafe you or feel… unpleasant.”

“You have my word,” he said flatly, testing his bonds. Though he could doubtlessly break free if necessary, the feeble “struggle” thrilled her in a way she didn’t want to think too hard about. She placed an apologetic kiss on his chin and pulled away to work the attachment onto her harness. He watched her with growing impatience, perhaps quietly lamenting his consent to the flimsy restraints.

“You never answered my question,” Lucina said, sounding absurdly conversational given her predicament. She’d worked out what she would say to Gerome and how she would say it, but it still struck her as obscene, hearing herself out loud. “About how you’d like it.”

Once more, Gerome’s response was too soft to make out.

“I hate to ask for you to repeat yourself, but you must speak up. Unless it is about the tea again.”

“I said…” He tightened his lips in what almost resembled defiance, and then sighed. “As you’d like. If it’s to use or defile me, or… put a swift end to me,” he growled. His gruff sense of humor might have taken her aback were this years ago, but now she saw through his verbal mask.

“If that is your wish,” she said tranquilly. She wished they’d gathered up more pillows to support his back, but those little luxuries seemed like the least of Gerome’s concerns just then. She returned to his doublet, unbuttoning it all the way down the front, and then tugged it back around his arms, further restricting their movement.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she blurted, straightening away to admire her work. “I… thought it only fair that we both be plain with each other.”

He declined to respond, sucking in a measured breath. He almost turned his face into his shoulder when Lucina caught him with firm, blunt fingers.

“Stop that. I want to see you.”

His cheek burned against her palm as he nodded, mute. So was his chest as she made her way down, murmuring encouragements against the heated skin, though she found herself drifting to the whispered refrain— _you are so very, very brave_.

He dug his toes into the bedding when she reached his waistband, lolling his head back with an exasperated groan. She feasted on him with newfound relish, noisily wetting his breeches along the inside of his thighs and nuzzling the folds where his leg met his groin. When it seemed that Gerome might crush her between his legs, she drew as much as the tight fabric as she could into her mouth, inhaling through her nose and closing her eyes. It was nice, working unrestrained, without a broad hand to jerk her head away or fumble with the lace of his pants. It was also nice to feel his want for her, however silly or girlish or… unbecoming of a queen. She ran a lazy finger along the seam of his breeches, watching his stomach clench with every soundless gasp of air he drew.

“This is… deliberate,” he managed between gulps. “Torture.”

“You ought to know that I think often about this.” She smiled into his navel, and considered taking the lace in her teeth. She might have gotten too caught up in this more brazen tack. “In private, when I’ve no one to turn to but my thoughts—“

“Lucina,  _please_.”

The sudden pleading in his tone took her briefly aback. She’d never heard Gerome so… shaken. Urgent, yes, but not quite this discomposed. Her hands reflexively moved to find his, before she remembered how they’d been trussed behind him.

“”You need only ask,” she chuckled, a bit ruefully. She pushed herself upright until they were first eye-level, and then ground a knee between his legs as she pulled herself on top of him. She considered Gerome for a moment; his breath was still from anticipation. Cupping his jaw, she dipped in for another kiss, though she could sense Gerome’s restraint from the way he tried to steady his frantic breaths, hot and ragged and diffuse with the taste of spearmint. Her hand smoothed over his cheek, and then his hair, and then the nape of his neck as she pressed him into the cushions, grazing her hips against his stomach and finally settling over his chest.

She couldn’t let on to Gerome that she hadn’t the faintest of how to proceed. In a way, it was like re-experiencing their first time in a fresh, regrettably sober light. Though she felt appalled with herself to even considered it, she wondered how it might have tasted—like leather, probably. Did it feel warm? Real? Maybe she wasn’t appalled with herself for wondering, but envisioning: Gerome, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. She seized a fistful of auburn hair, but then hesitated. There was a moment’s confusion before he appeared to grasp what she was meaning to do, and he craned his neck to take her tip in his mouth.

He was almost laughably gentle about it. Lucina managed to compose herself and find a more comfortable angle before she matched the tempo Gerome had worked up. He hummed in…contentment? It was difficult for Lucina to take in all at once, but he appeared to enjoy it, brow furrowed in concentration gasping open-mouthed along the shaft. It must have been a novel experience for him. At least, she would have hoped so.

She yanked his head closer and watched, fascinated, as he adjusted to the bulk, breathing hard and rhythmically through his nose—and then he retched and she withdrew, horrified with herself.

“Oh gods, Gerome, I—“

“You stopped,” he said weakly while she wiped away the trail of saliva dribbling down his chin.

“I don’t know what came over me—I’m so sorry.”

“Lucina.”

Tears had formed at the corner of his eyes, his breath ragged, and yet he appeared entirely unfazed.

“Apologies are forbidden… by your decree. Am I wrong?”

She ran a callused thumb along his cheekbone, catching an errant tear.

“I’m unfit to bear the title of Exalt if I cannot look after my own friends.”

“I think there is a grave misunderstanding here.”

She shushed him with a kiss, achingly tender—not only as an apology, but to keep his contrarian grumblings outside of the bedroom, where they were least welcome.

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, brushing her lips over each eyebrow, one after the other. “Nothing can hurt you here.”

“Of  _course_ I’m—right. Right. I’m alright.”

This time, she couldn’t help but laugh; Gerome was transparently humoring her. What mattered then was that she was his to humor, and that he was hers. The attachment was well-coated with saliva by now, but Lucina would spare no measure to ease his discomfort—whether or not he took some private delight in it. That was another matter and she would address it another time.

When she finally freed him of his breeches, she declined to touch him. She willed herself to ignore the twinge of guilt upon seeing him completely undone and laid bare. He did a masterful job of hiding his eagerness—or perhaps he was so accustomed to covering his shame.

She tipped the vial and rubbed the oil between her finger and thumb. It was slick and slightly viscous. Its utility was clear as well.

Gerome hissed with surprise as she wiped the excess onto his stomach, but made no protest.

“I hope you can bring yourself to trust me again,” she said, slicking the appendage with long, loose strokes. “I… I’m going to make it good for you.”

She permitted Gerome to turn his face this time—it wasn’t as if there was much he could hide behind. At length, he mumbled, “My fealty to you is unerring. I am yours. I have always been yours.”

He shuddered a bit when Lucina tried one finger. It was soft, and hot, and… too cramped to possibly be comfortable.

“Does that hurt?”

“It’s fine. It isn’t anything I haven’t felt before.”

It was Lucina’s turn to blush.

“You mean to say—“

“It’s nothing like that. Idle curiosity. I’d rather not speak of it.”

She drew her hand away and slathered her fingers with the oil, caring not that it dripped onto the bedsheets. Brushing her hips against Gerome’s, she took both of them into her hand.

“I said that I would take care of you,” she whispered, kissing the shell of his ear. “I swear it to you.”

“I know.” She heard the strain in his voice as he squirmed into her touch.

“You’re safe here, Gerome. No one—not those impotent upstarts, not the Risen, not the Fell Dragon himself… they won’t harm you. I vow to keep you safe.”

Whatever response he’d formed was disrupted—shattered—as she slowly eased into him. He choked on his words and gasped into Lucina’s mouth as she closed in for another languid kiss. She parted to study his face.

“Is this alright?”

She felt his chest swell against hers before he released a long, shuddering breath. His next words were an indistinct grumble.

“Hm?”

“Keep going,” he hissed, planting his face into his shoulder. She could feel the hot moisture of his groans seeping into her hair as she parted his thighs, slipping a hand under the crook of one knee. She sank in until she felt Gerome flush and trembling and rigid against her stomach.

“There we are,” she murmured, stroking the inside of his thigh, the tendons relaxing at her touch. “Is it good?”

Declining to respond, Gerome began to move of his own accord. He hooked his leg around her back and drew her tight against him.

“Speak up, Gerome. I didn’t hear an answer.”

“Full,” he answered sharply. “It feels… full.”

She pulled away once more, though strands of her hair remained stuck to his lips and lashes.

“Look at me, Gerome. Look at your Exalt. I’d given you my orders once, and I don’t expect to again. You  _will_ look at me, and you will speak.”

He peered at her through half-lidded eyes, mouth slackened, and half-ordered, half-pleaded.

“Ruin me.”

She didn’t know what had overcome him. She wasn’t familiar with the  _please_ , if it was a sincere demand or more of his banter that was simply lost on her.  _Please_ move _._   _Please_ keep going.  _Give it to me_ — _please. Please. Please._

She stifled his litany with a violent kiss, biting hard on his lower lip and plunging into him hard enough to rattle the headboard.

“As you wish,” she growled. Gerome’s leg trembled over the arc of her back; she was afraid she might lose her grip on him, and perhaps more direly, that she was losing a grip on herself. Gerome gave a stammered response and writhed against his bindings, drew Lucina deeper within himself, groaning his nonsense supplications as she rasped her nonsense responses.

_Take me. Rend me. Always. You’re mine._

“I love you,” she blurted, unsure of how the thought came to her. “You never have to be alone, Gerome. Never again. I won’t allow it.”

Between the heat and moisture and the resurging ache of both their loss, between Gerome’s profanity and cries that she never thought him capable of producing, she couldn’t locate the exact moment when she started to cry. She laughed, feeling very much the fool, or someone who had gone briefly unhinged, and kissed Gerome fiercely as he finished hard between their stomachs.

She could feel him squirming against her, squeezing himself dry from every last angle. He hadn’t been able to touch himself the entire time—she had not thought that possible, but there were many possibilities she failed to account for that night. Soon, his movements ceased, and he was no longer rocking into her girdle. There was a painful stretch of silence.

At length, Lucina asked, “Are you alright?”

Gerome grumbled noncommittally. He was falling asleep already?

Then he said, “It’s a bit sensitive”, and refused to elaborate until Lucina caught his meaning, and carefully withdrew herself. It warranted more exploration—she wondered how it might taste, to gorge upon him as he would gorge upon her. Whether this was a bodily pleasure, or Gerome was simply indulging an unusual predilection.

She remembered that she had left him tied up. She reached back to work the knots apart, though Gerome no longer seemed to particularly mind them. He shrugged his doublet off his arms and cast it aside.

“Lucina,” he began carefully. His eyes were dim in the dying candlelight, but she could make out his concern from where she sat across from him.

“That outburst at the end—I meant every word. I suppose I felt it needed to be said.” She shrugged, feeling painfully absurd with her harness protruding in the open. “Forgive me—for all of my empty assurances, I fear I may have mishandled you.”

For the first time that night, Gerome met her eyes unprompted.

“Of all the things to worry about, that should be the least among them,” he said dryly. “Please, just… take my word for it.”

“If you insist.”

With nowhere else to place it, she undid her harness and unceremoniously plopped it at the foot of her bed. She would have to find a place for it in the morning.

“I still meant what I said.” She joined Gerome’s side, expecting to find him half asleep. Instead, he drew her close with newly freed arms, one hand lazily splayed against her navel in a compulsory effort to repay her favor. She took him by the wrist.

“Gerome."

“What.”

“We’ve been through too much to let a petty courtier’s avarice to get in our way.”

“I know,” he said impatiently.

“I cannot say what our future will hold, but up until my dying breath, I will protect you. And I know that I have you to protect me—all of you. So please… should anything weigh on your mind, no matter how trivial it may seem, will you share it with me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you listening? If you don’t mind my saying, you look exhausted.”

“Lucina.” He folded another hand over hers, and brought it to his lips. “I gave you my word, did I not? I, too, meant what I said. About my forthrightness. Not just in these matters.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps never in these matters again.”

“Oh? I would have liked to known more.”

Gerome narrowed his eyes, and then sighed resignedly.

“Very well. If you would do me one favor, then.”

“Hm?” She closed her eyes, humming contentedly as Gerome’s hand grazed her waist.

“Let me take care of you.”

She chuckled and rolled onto her back; Gerome idly ran a hand over her belly where some of the oil and much of his seed had ended up. She took the hand in her own and guided it lower, absently wondering if she had always been so audacious.

Finally, she gave her answer: “If that is what you wish.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I flushed them out like the vermin they are,” Gerome confirmed. Laurent allowed himself the tiniest smirk, undoubtedly vindicated by his suspicions.

“That shop is truly unique in the services they offer, so it comes as no surprise that even landed nobility would find themselves mingling with the rabble from time to time. You exacted the rot before it ever had a chance to spread. Well done.”

“I came here to thank you, not for you to congratulate me. Your intelligence was invaluable to our efforts, Laurent. You did the halidom a valuable service.”

“Well…” He removed his glasses to wipe them clean with his sleeve, a nervous habit that Gerome had picked up of late. “I’m never one to gloat, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same. You would do well to familiarize yourself with the haunts of the more… unsavory crowd.”

He restored his glasses to their place on the bridge of his nose, cool and collected.

“It’s not a job for the squeamish, to say the least.”

“I’ll manage,” Gerome said curtly, rising from his seat in Laurent’s foyer. “One must sift through the dregs to let the light shine through.”

“A… confused metaphor, but a beautiful sentiment from Gerome the Vigilant. Give the Exalt my warmest regards.”

“She’s anxious for you to visit,” he muttered, turning to leave. “Good day, Laurent.”

“Oh, and Gerome? I know you find my prying distasteful, but might I suggest giving the vigilantism a bit of a rest? I couldn’t help but notice the slight falter in your gait. It doesn’t appear to be anything serious, but do be careful in the future.”

Gerome clenched his fist, and then sighed through his nose.

“I said  _good day,_ Laurent.”


End file.
